THE MARSH HAWK 113 



starved bantling. It cried feebly but would not 

 lift up its head. 



We first poured some warm milk down its 

 throat, which soon revived it, so that it would 

 swallow small bits of flesh. In a day or two we 

 had it eating ravenously, and its growth became 

 noticeable. Its voice had the sharp whistling 

 character of that of its parents, and was stilled 

 only when the bird was asleep. We made a pen 

 for it, about a yard square, in one end of the study, 

 covering the floor with several thicknesses of 

 newspapers ; and here, upon a bit of brown woolen 

 blanket for a nest, the hawk waxed strong day by 

 day. An uglier-looking pet, tested by all the rules 

 we usually apply to such things, would have been 

 hard to find. There he would sit upon his elbows, 

 his helpless feet out in front of him, his great f eath- 

 erless wings touching the floor, and shrilly cry 

 for more food. For a time we gave him water daily 

 from a stylograph-pen filler, but the water he 

 evidently did not need or relish. Fresh meat, and 

 plenty of it, was his demand. And we soon dis- 

 covered that he liked game, such as mice, squir- 

 rels, birds, much better than butcher's meat. 



Then began a lively campaign on the part of 

 my little boy against all the vermin and small 

 game in the neighborhood, to keep the hawk sup- 

 plied. He trapped and he hunted, he enlisted his 



